Friday's Child
by Kalimac
Summary: AU- a party of Elves discover something very strange in their forest... Chapter three- tread carefully around the Elven King.
1. Chapter One

Aren't plot bunnies great? Yep, this one bit me during Christmas dinner, which caused quite a disturbance I can tell you. This is a little odd I know, but I hope it is enjoyed. I just want to make it clear that this is AU, Alternate Universe; I know there is generally always someone who does not know the difference so I wish to make it absolutely clear.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all. I'm even borrowing my body from God, and I'll have to give it back to him at some point. Though I did create some original characters, they are based on Tolkien's works so I claim no ownership.  
  
*************  
  
~Friday's Child~  
  
"Come, Legolas!" called Galdol, pausing and looking behind. The forest of Mirkwood, a dark and foreboding place at the best of times, grew even more so the closer they drew to Dol Guldor. The trees grew closer together, and the air became steadily more stifling, yet despite it there was an unnatural chill which seemed to come not from the air, but to creep up from the ground and into your very bones, and the group of Elvish hunters grew more cautious as the trees stirred omniously in a non-existant wind. The young Elf called Legolas bounded fleet as a deer to Galdol's side, his green and brown garb blending seamlessly with the darkness of the forest, as did his ebony hair, bound back from his fair face with an intricate braid.  
  
"My apologies, Galdol!" he exclaimed, coming to a halt, one slender hand resting almost casually on the handle of the long white knife at his side. "You seem to move ever swifter, and try as I might I cannot keep up!" Galdol laid a hand on the younger Elf's shoulder; this was Legolas's third trip this deep into the forest, and he was still getting to know the trees and paths through this part of Mirkwood, whereas Galdol and the other Elves on the hunting expedition had travelled this way many times, and their light feet trod the paths with a speed unmatched by any other two-legged creature.  
  
"Worry not, Legolas," he said in reassurance. "We shall try to steady our feet. Now come!" Then, soundlessly, they sprang away after their companions into the lingering shadows beneath the bows of the trees.  
  
~~~  
  
There was silence, and Galdol liked it not. There was nothing, not one living thing stirred, and it was unnatural; no spiders, no orcs, even the trees seemed quieter; not even one of the infamous black squirrels of Mirkwood scampered through the branches above. His instincts were on edge, his sensitive ears straining for any sound, but there was none, save the occasional swish of a cloak or creak of a branch.  
  
"Galdol!" a dark-haired Elf by the name of Helder appeared at his side, a slender long-bow in his hand. "Galdol, something is not right; my blood runs chill. I suggest that we send a scout ahead."  
  
Galdol glanced at Legolas, whose face was determined, though uncertaintly flickered in his sharp grey eyes. The King Thranduil had placed Galdol in charge of his youngest son, and it was his place to protect the young Elf. "I will go," he said eventually. "Remain here whilst I am gone. I will whistle once like a barn owl if it is safe, and once like a screech owl if otherwise." Helder nodded his acceptance. "Legolas," Galdol turned to the onyx-haired Elf, "stay with Helder." Then, he turned and sprinted away, nipped expertly through the trees, following the winding path. Away from the company, his sensed, already honed to near perfection, seemed to sharped even moreso. He fitted an arrow to his bow, his keen eyes glancing all around as his tireless feet carried him onwards, and still there was no sound. No sound, but something else. Galdol slowed, wary and cautious. Death was in the air, he was sure of it. There was a small clearing ahead, and he gradually tightened his bowstring, his movements becmae more deliberate; if he had been soundless before, there was no word for what he was now.  
  
But as he passed from the dense forest into the clearing, all thoughts of fighting fled his mind. Dwarves! Four of them! There were signs of a battle; blood stained the ground, both black and red. Several orc bodies were strewn about the clearing, along with their trademark crudely-crafted scimitars and heavy crossbows. Two of the dead dwarves grasped swords; one had been stabbed many times, and the other was pierced with a thick crossbow bolt, and they had obviously gone down fighting, as had the others. One of these clutched a double-bladed battle axe, and the other a lighter, single-bladed one, both of exceptional quality. When Galdol examined the last Dwarf, he started slightly, and a gasp escaped him. Why, he was no more than a boy! Though he was bearded, like all dwarves, it was no more than a goatee, with a small moustache, and his face was round and smooth, and a gash ran along one cheek. As Galdol knelt by the body in disbelief, he noticed that there was still colour in the youngster's cheeks, as compared to the deathly paleness of his comrades. Scarcely daring to believe, Galdol leant closer, and his heart leapt; he was breathing, albeit rather shallowly.  
  
Raising his head, and staring into the eaves of the forest from which he had come, he gave a loud whistle, then he bent over the young Dwarf. Though Elves cared little for the Naugrim, thinking them dirty, gold-grabbing, selfish creatures, Galdol was a kind-hearted Elf and could not leave the boy, and something about him had touched the hunter. Perhaps it was his peasant-like clothing; a patched, faded tunic, with similarly worn trousers, battered, old boots and a frayed hood. Slipping his light pack from his shoulder, the Elf leant over the Dwarf, and busied himself with bathing the deep gash on his cheek.  
  
"Galdol!" Helder, Legolas and the rest of the party had arrived, with looks of shock, confusion and distaste on their faces.  
  
"What is happening?" asked Helder, drawing close and dropping to his knees beside Galdol, and looking down at the Dwarf with something close to disgust mingled with disbelief.  
  
"I know not." Galdol replied calmly, as he ran his hands lightly over his patient's body, checking for other injuries. "I found them as they are now; the elder Naugrim are dead, but this young one lives. I do not understand how they came to be here, but we cannot leave this one."  
  
"And why not?" another Elf burst out from where he had been studying the slain orcs. "The Naugrim give us no aid, why should we not grant them the same treatment?"  
  
"Why, Laros?" Galdol asked, standing up and staring hard at the smaller Elf. "Would you leave a youngster, alone and injured, to die a slow, painful death, a senseless waste of life, be they mortal or nay, because of an age-old prejudice of our ancestors? Because if that would be your way, so be it, but it is not mine, and I lead this party." Laros had the grace to look shamefaced, and he bowed his head in respect.  
  
Carefully, Galdol knelt and prised the axe from the Dwarf's grip, which proved a task, for the Dwarf's strong hand held his weapon tightly. Then, without speaking, he handed the axe to Helder, and picked the Dwarf up, one arm around his back, supporting his shoulders, and the other under his legs. Dwarves were naturally heavy, but this one was young and small; he bore no armour, and was obviously starving, for Galdol had felt the child's ribs when he had been checking for additional injuries, and the strong Elven hunter was able to carry the Dwarf with little trouble.  
  
It was a long journey back through Mirkwood, though they had thankfully come no more than half a day from the Elven King's halls, having set out that morning, though as they travelled South, towards Dol Guldor the forest had become denser, making their path more difficult. Now they were burdened with the Dwarf, they were not as swift as they would have been otherwise. As the forest grew greener, and the trees wider spaced, allowing for air and sunlight to creep through, the leaves were stained red and gold in the setting sun, and Illuin was rising high into the sky in his eternal pursuit of Arnor.* It was in this hour that they reached Thranduil's stone halls.  
  
"Hail, Galdol!" called one of the guards of the gate. "You have returned early; we were not expecting you until at least the eve of tomorrow."  
  
"Aye, Fedral," Galdol replied. "But we came upon a circumstance we certainly did not expect. But now is not the time for talking; we must get this Dwarf to a healer."  
  
"A Dwarf!" Fedral's eyes grew wide as he stared at the body of the Dwarf in Galdol's arms. "How come's this?"  
  
"Later, I promise you," Galdol said. "But he is injured, and needs to be seen to."  
  
Fedral hesitated. He, and all others present, knew that the King did not approve of Dwarf's, and would most certainly not allow this one to enter his hall.  
  
"Fedral," Legolas came forward, his face pleading. "I know my father would probably not allow it, and he is not fond of the Naugrim, but none of us here are. Yet, Galdol has done the noble thing and rescued this one, who is but a child, and I think we would do well to reward his nobility and try to save that which he has taken such pains to give a chance of life to." Fedral looked at the face of Thranduil's youngest son, and nodded.  
  
"Very well," he said, signalling for the gates to be opened. "But remember that it was not my decision to bring a Naug into the King's Halls!"  
  
*************  
  
Whoot, chapter one! I hope people are enjoying this and will review. Also, I need a beta, so if anyone feels like offering (it's the season of goodwill, peeps!) please say so in your review.  
  
Cheers, and Merry Christmas one and all!  
  
~Kalimac~ 


	2. Chapter Two

Aren't plot bunnies great? Yep, this one bit me during Christmas dinner, which caused quite a disturbance I can tell you. This is a little odd I know, but I hope it is enjoyed. I just want to make it clear that this is AU, Alternate Universe; I know there is generally always someone who does not know the difference so I wish to make it absolutely clear.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all. I'm even borrowing my body from God, and I'll have to give it back to him at some point. Though I did create some original characters, they are based on Tolkien's works so I claim no ownership.  
  
Oh. My. God. Thank you so much for all the positive reviews! I love you all, and I hope you all had a fantastic Christmas, Hannukah, Solstice or Kwanzaa! Hugs and Aubergines for all!  
  
*************  
  
~Friday's Child~  
  
"Helder, go and alert the King," Galdol said firmly, as they walked swiftly along the winding passages of the Elvenking's cavernous halls, their faces tinted red due to the flickering scarlet lamps lighting the way. "He should know of the Orc attack, and send another company as quickly as possible to find out more. And tell him of this little one." The dark-haired archer nodded curtly and left in the direction of the main hall, where Thranduil the Elvenking sat on his carven chair. The other elves of their party had left them, either to the armoury or kitchens, or instead to their own homes in the trees of Mirkwood in the safer regions of the forest. Only Legolas remained with Galdol, striding along beside him and watching the Dwarf with curiosity. Finally, he spoke:  
  
"Why is he dressed so, Galdol?" he queried, gesturing the older Elf's burden. "I thought dwarves were a wealthy folk."  
  
"So some of them are," Galdol agreed. "But since the Dragon came, many have taken refuge in the Blue Mountains, but there are some that are still simple wanderers, and it is my guess that this Dwarf is one of them."  
  
Legolas nodded in understanding, and cast a glance behind them, in the direction the Lonely Mountain, the lair of the Dragon Smaug, lay beyond Mirkwood.  
  
Finally, they reached the Healing quarters. The two Elves had walked with confidence and a surety that showed that they knew exactly where they were going, but the winding, twisting passages would surely have confused any who did not know their way around. Galdol gently laid the Dwarf down on a bed and turned to Legolas. "Stay with him," he ordered. "I shall find Dalmar." The young Elf nodded, and Galdol left to seek out the Healer. Legolas sighed, and sat down on a chair beside the bed. He did not particularly want to look over the Dwarf, but Galdol had asked him to, and Legolas looked up to and respected the older Elf.  
  
Now, he studied the Dwarf. Naugrim, his people called them: the Stunted, and stunted they were. Why, this one stood no more than four feet in height! Yet, he was strong enough to wield a battle-axe, and moreso, judging by the muscles evident on his arms. Just a youngster, Galdol had said, but he was bearded as an elder, and Legolas found this concept disturbingly alien. When (and if) the Dwarf awoke, Legolas wondered what would happen, for dwarves were uncouth, suspicious creatures, and Legolas did not doubt that no gratitude would be given for it's rescue. But even so, there was something in the Dwarf's face; a peaceful honesty that Legolas could not place, yet he knew that there was something different, something unusual about this particular Naug.  
  
Galdol soon returned with Dalmar, the Healer. Though Elves knew nothing of sickness, it was essential to have a resident Healer in case of severe battle injuries, infection or any other such ailment that even the even the Elves were susceptible to, and which would need proper attention.  
  
Dalmar was an older Elf, who had served Oropher, the father of Thranduil, for many long years, though his face was ageless there was wisdom in his deep eyes. As he entered, he pulled his silver hair into a long tail away from his face, and knelt by the Dwarf. Legolas had long admired Dalmar, for he was patient almost to a fault, and his non-judgemental attitude meant that he harboured little to no prejudice. There were even rumours that the blood of the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien ran in his veins, but when the subject was broached none could give reasons and there was no proof.  
  
Now, the gentle Elf was unlacing the Dwarf's simple tunic to look over his injuries. Legolas stepped away to let Dalmar work and stood by the door with the silent Galdol. He could not see what Dalmar was doing, but he soon spoke out.  
  
"'Tis as I thought," he said softly, and whether he spoke to the other two Elves, the unconscious Dwarf or to himself was not clear. "Three broken ribs, lucky it was not more, and severe bruising to the chest and stomach."  
  
"No internal bleeding?" Galdol asked, and by the worried tone of his voice Legolas knew this was what had concerned him most.  
  
"None..." murmured Dalmar, still pressing his long fingers lightly to the Dwarf's chest, "which is lucky; had he been any but a Dwarf these injuries would have been far more worrisome. No," he straightened and walked over to a cupboard on the wall nearby, where he kept his medical supplies, "what worries me most is his hunger. He has obviously not eaten for a very long time, and is desperately under-weight. However, first I must tend these hurts."  
  
As the Healer began to tightly bandage the Dwarf's chest, to bind his broken ribs in place, the door opened and a young Elf put her head inside.  
  
"My apologies," she said, her expression unreadable, "but the King has asked for Master Legolas and Galdol. He wishes to speak with them urgently."  
  
"Of course, Gilriel," Galdol replied. "Come, Legolas. We shall return afterwards, Dalmar." Dalmar nodded his head, but he was so absorbed in his work that Legolas doubted he had truly heard him. As he followed Gilriel and Galdol out the door, Galdol caught his eye, and grimaced slightly. Legolas knew exactly what he meant; Thranduil, though a fair and decent King, was strong-willed and high-hearted, and would not approve of this new turn of events.  
  
He walked silently behind the other two Elves, until they reached Thranduil's hall. It was a large room, with pillars of carven wood, and an ornately carved wooden chair on which Thranduil sat, crowned with autumn leaves and berries on his golden hair. He did not look happy.  
  
"Ah, Galdol, Legolas," the King began, his voice tense. "Come here, if you please. Gilriel, leave us."  
  
Galdol caught Legolas's eye one last time, and attempted a smile. Legolas knew this was not going to be one of the best moments of his life.  
  
*************  
  
Thanks for reading, peeps. Please, oh please, leave a review! But I still really need a beta, so if anyone would offer... (pleading)  
  
~Kalimac~ 


	3. Chapter Three

_Aren't plot bunnies great? Yep, this one bit me during Christmas dinner, which caused quite a disturbance I can tell you. This is a little odd I know, but I hope it is enjoyed. I just want to make it clear that this is AU, Alternate Universe; I know there is generally always someone who does not know the difference so I wish to make it absolutely clear._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all. I'm even borrowing my body from God, and I'll have to give it back to him at some point. Though I did create some original characters, they are based on Tolkien's works so I claim no ownership._

_Oh. My. God. Thank you so much for all the positive reviews! I love you all!_

_Great thanks especially to Sidh, for being so wonderful and agreeing to beta for me!_

*************

~Friday's Child~

"Why did your party return early, Galdol?" the King asked, leaning forward in his chair and scrutinising the hunter. "I recall specifically requesting that you not return until the newest Southern colony of spiders was destroyed." Thranduil seemed almost to spark with anger, though he kept his voice level. "Yet, you return without having taken a weapon to any spider. Explain."

And so Galdol explained, telling the King about the discovery in the woods. Thranduil was not a patient Elf, but he was a very good listener and absorbed all the facts as they were told, and he had a genuine interest in the well-being of his Kingdom and his people, but very little beyond that. He did not interrupt as Galdol told his story, and when the Elf had finished, Thranduil leant back in his seat, the tips of his long fingers together, over which he studied the two before him. Legolas glanced between his father and Galdol, wondering how the King would react.

"So," Thranduil said finally, his voice hard, "you see fit to leave the hunt of these vagabond Orcs in order to bring a Naug to my Halls. Is that it?"

"Yes, Sire," Galdol replied quietly, because, of course, it was true.

"Why, then did you not send out some of your party to pursue the tracks? Surely it did not take all of you to return here with the Naug?"

Galdol stared. He could not believe it. Now the King mentioned it, it seemed an obvious course of action. Why had he not thought of that before? He was an experienced hunter! Yet, he had to justify his actions.

"I did not know how large the Orc party would be, Sire," he replied. "I did not think it wise to send some of my party, who were equipped only for hunting, to track down a party of unknown number or strength."

Thranduil's eyes glittered, and for a moment Galdol felt a prickle of genuine fear; his lord could be very harsh when he was angry enough. However, the King nodded slightly. "Very well," he said, softly. "I will let it pass- this time. But I will expect a hunting party to be sent out as soon as possible to pursue these Orcs and to destroy them. Now," he continued, before Galdol could say anything, "what state is the Naug in? How soon will it be able to leave?"

"I know not the full details, Lord," Galdol replied humbly, keeping his gaze averted. "He is being tended as we speak. It appears that he is rather badly injured, but also malnourished and possibly very ill. We would have to wait for him to recover and awaken before further action can be taken."

Thranduil considered for a moment, and then he nodded. "Very well. Now, go, and inform Dalmar that I shall speak with him when he has tended to his duties." Galdol bowed and left the Hall, only just able to hide his relief at the King's decision.

Legolas wished desperately that he could leave with Galdol, and not be left any longer under the hawk-like gaze of his father. Legolas had inherited his father's eyes, though his were warmer, gentler than the steel-like glare in Thranduil's face. 

"Legolas, I will give you the duty of looking after the Naug until it is fit to leave," Thranduil stated, his expression unchanging. Legolas inclined his head.

"Yes, father," he said. He did not relish the charge, and could only hope that the Dwarf would recover quickly. Thranduil saw the distaste flicker over his son's face, and his gaze softened. 

"I know that this is hardly the greatest of opportunities, Legolas, but I trust you. Many others would refuse to take this on, or would neglect their duties. I know you will not allow that to happen." Legolas appreciated his father's understanding, but he knew that his last sentence was an unspoken warning.   

The young Elf left the Hall and made his way to the Healing Quarters, trying to sort out his thoughts. Though he felt sympathy for the Dwarf, and even anxiety for his condition, he could not imagine ever appreciated such a creature, or enjoying the company of one. 

Despite his attempts to slow down his journey, Legolas finally reached the door to the Healing Quarters. Opening the door, he found Dalmar and Galdol deep in discussion; Dalmar was looking concerned, and Galdol's face was in shadow. As he approached, they both turned to him. Legolas related his father's last instructions, and Galdol nodded.

"He has been given a sleeping draught," the older Elf explained. "His injuries are tended, and Dalmar will return to inspect his condition later. I will see you at dinner." Galdol left hurriedly, and Legolas suspected that he wanted to organise a party to leave tomorrow as soon as may be. 

Soon, Legolas was left alone with the Dwarf. His old, tattered tunic had been removed, and a bandage was wrapped around his muscular chest. He looked very small in the large bed, and Legolas thought of him, for the first time, as a hurt child, and not an injured Dwarf. 

He lost count of how long he sat there. He knew it was long past the evening meal, but he was not hungry. It seemed that his world had diminished to this room, this bed, and this small creature he was watching. After what could have been days, but was probably only a few hours, the Dwarf stirred. Immediately, Legolas sat up straighter, and stared at him. He moved again, and murmured something in a language Legolas had never heard before, but which he took to be the native language of the dwarves. 

Legolas watched the Dwarf closely, waiting for any other sign of life, but there was nothing. Nothing, that was, until the Dwarf's eyes snapped open. He stared at Legolas, confusion evident on his face. Legolas moved to stand up, and immediately the Dwarf tensed; to Legolas' shock, genuine fear flooded those dark eyes. He sat down, slowly, so as not to startle the Dwarf further. He was watching him like a frightened colt.

"It is alright," the young Elf said, quietly. "You're safe here." _But for how long?_ A little voice at the back of his mind asked. The Dwarf watched him for a little while, and eventually relaxed, though his gaze was still wary and frightened.

"Where am I?" he asked in a small voice that was nevertheless deep and rich.

"The Elven Halls of Mirkwood." Legolas wondered whether he should go and seek out Dalmar, or stay with the Dwarf. His curiosity won the quick battle, and he leant toward the Dwarf slightly.

"What is your name?" The Dwarf glared slightly; his face was full of mistrust, but eventually he could hold the Elf's gaze no longer, and he ducked his copper head.

"Gimli." A simple name that seemed to suit the Dwarf, but there was something else there; a hidden meaning that Legolas could not discern. 

"Gimli…" The Elf rolled the name around his tongue, as though trying its taste. It felt odd, but his lilting Elven voice gave the word an intriguing ring. "My name is Legolas. What were you doing in Mirkwood?"

At his words, Gimli suddenly sat bolt upright. There was no trace of the pain this movement must have caused him; only a panic and urgency.

"My family!" he gasped, staring at Legolas with wild eyes. "Where are they? My father, my uncle…?"

Legolas felt as though he had suffered a blow. He was filled with hatred for the enormity of what he had to tell the Dwarf. He had been planning on avoiding the subject, of leaving the terrible facts to Galdol… why had he asked what the Dwarf was doing in Mirkwood? He had practically thrown the doors wide and invited trouble in for a sip of wine. He closed his eyes, bracing himself.

"They- they're dead." It was not sympathetic, not sad. His voice was deadpan, stating the facts. He stared determinedly at the cupboard on the other side of the room, not wanting to look at Gimli's face.

There was no sound from the Dwarf, and finally Legolas forced himself to look at him, fearing that he might have passed out. But he was awake. He had hugged his knees to his chest, and buried his face in his arms. There had been no questioning of Legolas' statement, no fierce denial. Just this terrible, silent grief. Legolas supposed that the Dwarf had known the answer as soon as he had asked.

Legolas sat for a long moment, unsure of what to do. The Dwarf obviously wanted to be left alone, but he had been told to watch over him. They did not know each other, save for their names only, so there was very little support or comfort the Elf could give. He could only sit and watch in quiet helplessness as the Dwarf grieved.
    
    So Legolas let himself drift into his thoughts. Gimli had not seemed the selfish, conniving, grasping creature he had been brought up to believe dwarves would be, and yet he had shown no gratitude either. Although, he reasoned, he had not exactly explained to the Dwarf that the Elves had saved him, and there were obviously other things on Gimli's mind. Maybe he could not expect him to be thanking an elf, and one he did not know at that, for something the Dwarf did not know the Elf had even done.

And then there were those eyes; large, dark and emotional, Legolas had felt drawn to them from the moment they had opened. They held more feeling than the eyes of many elves Legolas knew. 

The door to the room opened suddenly and Legolas, glad of any distraction, looked over and stood up. Dalmar came in quietly, and immediately crossed over to Gimli, an expression of mild relief mingled with concern on his face. 

Entering the room behind Dalmar, regal and imposing, was King Thranduil.  

***

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please, oh please, read and review!_


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